


no time to say hello/goodbye

by wakandawinterprincess



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 09:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/pseuds/wakandawinterprincess
Summary: A prelude story to the joint Winter Soldier/Falcon series. Takes place shortly after the events of A4 (maybe a few months to a year), after all dusted individuals have magically come back to life. Or, how Bucky says goodbye to Shuri before embarking on a new journey with a one Sam Wilson.





	no time to say hello/goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Apparently Marvel has called the snap ‘The Decimation’ in the MCU. It’s a stupid name but I can’t think of a better one lol, so that’s what I call it here too smh. The reversal of the Snap is called the Resurrection bc I am Not Creative. (Hello Wakandan Jesus!)
> 
> Shuri’s Dress: https://www.instagram.com/p/BrgAfjUlzn8/

In the months after the Resurrection, all the pieces that fell apart slowly fall back together.

Somewhere along the way, White Wolf returns to Wakanda.

It’s not a particularly loud affair. There’s no great pomp and circumstance, no large or long welcome.

But, he thinks, it’s _exactly_ what he needs.

Peace. And time. To understand just exactly what’s happened.

And what - if _anything_ \-- is to happen next.

* * *

 

For a while, it seems like everything has settled into some semblance of normal.

Bucky takes occasional missions with the Hatut Zeraze, but mostly he keeps to himself in the village, preferring to hang out with the children and tend to his farm, instead.

Shuri visits him frequently, too. The aftermath of the Decimation was hard on her, more so than she likes to admit to anyone other than him.

For what it’s worth, she puts on a brave face. But he knows that terror of her nightmares finally matches his, in more ways than one. He finds that his heart aches for that, and for everything she’s gone through.

Words never seem to mean much, in the face of such devastating trauma.

(Frankly, he’s never been good with them, anyway.)

So he does his best, instead, to be for her what she once was for him: a steady rock, helping to ground her in a storm of emotions.

He’s lost track of the number of times he’s held her, watched as her pretty face dissolved into tears. Watched her fall apart, then tried to help her pick up the pieces.

But she’s resilient, far more resilient than anyone gives her credit for.

They go back to simple things. Skipping stones on the water. Looking up at the stars. Watching the sun set. Teasing at each other, with more lightness than actual bite.

Humans can’t fix each other, he’s come to realize. They can only soothe the ache.

And being around her -- her smile, her laughter, her spirit -- is like a balm for his aching soul.

* * *

That’s what it comes down to, really.

Him. Her. The village children, happily yapping away on the banks of the river.

For a while, he thinks that might be enough.

He could live out the end of his days like this. If not ever fully destined for peace, then at least quietly content.

That is, until one evening, he receives news that changes all of that.

* * *

The message comes from Sam Wilson. It’s urgent, it’s confidential, but perhaps most _importantly_ , Bucky discovers -- it’s to do with the recent death of their mutual best friend.

None other than the late Steve Rogers.

* * *

Prior to his death, it seems, Steve had been quietly investigating the trail of a one Serpent Society -- an ancillary secret society under HYDRA, whose identities and goals remained secret even _after_ the leaks in D.C. Unfortunately, the trail had run cold for quite some time before his death, and more pressing matters had taken precedence.

Sam, who’d since taken over the role of Captain America in recent months, had thought little of it -- that was, until a sudden tip from an underground informant revealed that the Serpent Society was very much alive and well, even _after_ the Resurrection.

His source had little time to collect further intel before going silent again, but one thing was clear: the threat posed by the Serpents was far more dangerous and immediate than previously assumed.

Ordinarily, he would have gone about this on his own, Sam admits in the tersely-written message. But Bucky is one of the last people alive who truly _knows_ HYDRA as an organization.

Bucky, like Sam, is also one of the last people alive who knew Steve well enough to understand the inside of the man’s brain, to be able to decipher the notes and leads he had left behind.

Whatever their past together, Sam would have been remiss not to ask him to come along and fulfill Steve’s last mission together. And, he adds in his sign-off, he had a feeling he knew _exactly_ what Bucky would do.

* * *

Sam, of course, was right.

The instant Bucky is filled in, he knows he **has** to go.

There’s simply no other choice here.

It's unclear how long he’d have to be gone -- hell, they could spend _years_ hunting down their leads.

And while it hurts his heart to leave Wakanda, he _also_ knows that if HYDRA is still at large, they’re still a threat to him and to everyone he’s grown to love.

So he swallows down his emotions and sends Sam a four word response to his request --

_‘Yes. Just say when.’_

* * *

It takes a few days to work out the kinks in the arrangements, but within the week, plans are set for his departure.

Sam will be picking him up for a red eye flight around 3 A.M, so Bucky does everyone a favor and says his goodbyes the afternoon and evening before.

T’Challa wishes him the best of luck, Nakia tells him to stay safe, and even proud Okoye tears up a little bit when she hugs him goodbye (which Bucky promptly notices and teases her endlessly for, before kissing her fondly on the cheek).

The only person he isn’t able to catch, oddly enough, is _Shuri_.

He’d told her just a few days ago about his intention to leave Wakanda. He sure as _hell_ hadn’t missed the dark shadow that had crossed her face, or the way she’d stiffened slightly before replying, quietly and politely, that the choice was up to him.

She’d put on the facade of indifference, but in a heartbeat, he’d known: she was _furious_.

He understood her being upset, really. He couldn’t fault her, at all.

But in the moment, he’d foolishly brushed it off, choosing to switch topics and silently hoping she’d eventually forgive him for what he was about to do.

It strikes him now, however, that he hasn’t seen her **_since_** , and the thought that follows that realization is extremely worrying.

He’s a certified idiot. _Shit_.

Bucky does his best to follow up by needling her staff, who tell him that she wasn’t able to reschedule any of her other obligations, and will **not** be able to see him today. He presses them for more info, because _surely_ they won’t let him leave without the chance to say goodbye to the girl who saved his life?

But if she’s stubborn, well, then her staff is equally stubborn _and_ loyal to a fault, too. And though they’re kind enough to give him an apologetic look, their answer is the same: they don’t know if she will be able to see him at all today, and they’re not at liberty to disclose where she is presently. Sorry, _Ingucka_.

* * *

If it wasn’t overwhelmingly clear before, it is now: Shuri’s _definitely_ mad at him.

But it’s her choice, and ultimately, if she doesn’t want to see him, he can’t force her to.

Even if the thought of leaving her like this is hurting his heart, in more ways than one.

So he leaves T’Challa a quick kimoyo text telling him to tell Shuri he said goodbye, whilst also praying to Bast and Jesus and any other higher power that happens to be listening to his wretched requests that the king can get through to his sister.

And with that, he leaves for his little hut in the village, one last time.

* * *

By the time he arrives, it’s already nearly nightfall. Almost, but not quite.

Bucky can just tease out the last colors of the dying sunset, painted across the sky in a brilliant mix of orange and gold. He’s seen it, so many times before, but it still takes his damn breath away.

Appropriate, he figures, given that this might just be the last time he sees this view in a long time.

As he crosses his threshold, one last time, he takes it all in: the humble cot he’d slept on, the small side table, the little wicker stools in front of the fireplace, and a seemingly random assortment of toys and trinkets, little gifts from the children in the village.

It’s an almost amusing sight, really, but he can’t help the smile that crosses his face

This had become his home. Small, peaceful, _lovely_. And he’s forever grateful for that.

It’s dark now, and the chill of night is starting to settle over him, so he moves to start a small fire in the fireplace. He’s just getting settled in front of the warmth of the fire when he hears a soft rap on the doorframe.

 _Who_ could that be?

He looks up and, lo and behold, it’s the one person who had somehow managed to evade him all day.

It’s none other than the princess of Wakanda herself, Shuri.

And for a moment he’s **stunned**. Because he really, truly, had come to believe that she was mad at him, and that he was going to have to leave without seeing her, one last time

But then he walks over to the doorway and it’s **_real_** , she’s really there

She’s got a guilty, apologetic look on her face, but he’s completely distracted by how beautiful she looks in the evening air: dark hair swept into small braids and styled into a sophisticated updo, dark eyes rimmed with black liner, and a dark blue sheath dress, one he’s _certainly_ seen her wear before, but has never looked _quite_ as stunning on her as it does in this very moment.

Mostly though, he’s taken aback by her eyes, suddenly locked with his. She’s gazing at him in a way that leaves him utterly _speechless._ And in that instant, he’s _so_ glad she came back.

His thoughts are broken by her next words.

“Sorry about avoiding you all day”, she whispers in a small voice.

The apology is so unlike her usual nature -- bold and brash and confident -- that he knows she must really, _truly_ mean it.

Not that she has anything to apologize for. She’d done nothing wrong. and frankly, he could never be angry at her, not ever.

He knows that, now.

“It’s OK. Come in, Shuri.’ he murmurs, because he realizes that she’s been standing at the door for _far_ too long, now, and there’s no reason _not_ to invite her inside.

She walks past him into the hut, and that’s when he realizes that she’s come with absolutely no guards and no Dora Milaje, which is _way_ beyond the normal protocol observed.

He has half a mind to ask her where they are, and he _swears_ he’s about to, but he’s distracted by the fact that she’s now settled herself on a corner of his cot, a decidedly somber look on her face.

So he sits down next to her, instead. Gives her a moment, to collect her words.

“I was... _mad_ at you for leaving.” she begins.

Shuri frowns. Pauses.

“No, not mad.” she corrects herself. “I was _furious_.”

“It seemed to me like you were running off on your own -- running away from us, from _me_ , as fast as you could. I didn’t understand _why_ , at first. And I resented you for it.”

Shuri takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to center herself, before she continues.

“It wasn’t until I had some time to myself that I realized that it was selfish of me to stop you. You deserve a chance to tie up the loose ends. And if it were me in your place, I’d probably do the exact same thing.”

“So I guess what I’m saying is: I was mad before, but now I understand _why_. I wanted to see you one last time, and tell you that I was sorry.”

And she meets his eyes again, looking so positively upset that any anger or frustration he could have even _possibly_ held in his heart would have immediately been melted away.

He waits a moment before he breaks the silence.

 

“Thank you, Shuri. For telling me. And for seeing me again.”

There’s vulnerability in the tremble of his voice, but he doesn’t care. She’s seen all of him, already.

What’s a little more?

“Though, you know,” he adds, his tone tingeing with something akin to tease, “you are _allowed_ to be mad at me. I probably deserved it.”

She smirks at that, and he counts it as a small success. _Yes_.

“Are we cool?” he looks to her, hoping to _Bast_ he got that turn of phrase right. (His command over modern slang is mediocre at best, despite her efforts to educate him on it.)

Shuri laughs, this time -- a full, wholehearted one.

“Yeah yeah, old man. We’re cool.” she agrees, a familiar, teasing smile back on her face.

She swallows, and then he sees her settle into seriousness again.

“I’m gonna miss you, _Ingucka_.” she murmurs softly.

Just like that, the previous wave of emotion he’d felt, when he’d first seen her at his door, threatens to swallow him again.

“Me too, princess.” he murmurs back, holding his feelings back as best as he can.

Three words. As if that could ever adequately sum up the crater that’s been forming in his chest for the last few days.

She gives him a suddenly-watery smile, and then she’s scooting over from her side of the cot to hug him.

They’d figured out long ago that she couldn’t _really_ hug him the way she did so many of her friends. Her small frame is no match for the broad expanse of his chest, nowhere _near_ it. So they’d learned to settle for a modified embrace instead, her arms around his neck and her head buried in his shoulder. Not perfect, but enough.

She hugs him like that, now, and he leans into the curve of her shoulder, tries to memorize every last detail. He’ll take this with him -- the earthy scent of her fragrance, the smooth feel of her bare shoulder on his cheek, the way she’s clinging to him, so soft and gentle and yet, so _wonderfully,_ undeniably possessive -- _wherever_ he goes.

Shuri pulls back from their embrace at last. But this time, she doesn’t pull all the way back.

Instead, she lingers in his arms, one hand still clutched around the nape of his neck, the other hand tracing out the line of his jaw, bristling the edges of his beard.

It’s so simple, really, but it feels _too_ intimate.

He should move away, but suddenly he feels rooted to the spot. Looking at her now, in the light from the slowly-dying embers of the fire, he can make out every little detail of her face. She looks _beautiful_ , and he can’t even _begin_ to describe the way she’s looking at him, now.

His heart is suddenly hammering out of his chest, and he can’t for the life of him understand _why_. Just like he can’t explain why her dark eyes have clouded over, why he can see a veritable _storm_ in her eyes. Like she’s trying to make a _choice_ of some sort.

In a split second, she makes her decision. And that’s when she leans in and kisses him.

For a second, his mind shuts down. He’s too stunned to do _anything_. Move. Breathe. Function.

He shouldn’t kiss her back. Really, he shouldn’t.

But he _does_.

Because with her lips against his, she’s somehow tapped into every bit of longing, every bit of _hunger_ he’s felt, since the moment he’d returned to Wakanda. So he cradles her face with one shaking hand, tips her head to get a better angle, and pushes his mouth hard against hers.

And he was wrong when he said humans couldn’t fix each other. Because when he feels her lips part, when he hears her moan beneath him, he’s _convinced_ that the sound alone has opened a wound that only _she_ can fix.

So he kisses her like it’s an _ache_. Kisses her, completely and wholly _unrepentant_.

All the sense in his head goes out the window, and suddenly he’s grasping her knee, pulling her into his lap like a madman. And she’s gasping beneath him before she retaliates with her own firebrand streak of rebellion, deepening their kiss, tugging at his hair in a way that is both painful and pleasurable in a way he can’t even _begin_ to comprehend.

Eventually, they have to part for air, but he immediately moves to press harsh kisses along the dark expanse of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone. And he can _feel_ her melt into his arms, one hand still around his neck, her anchor to the present as she floats in euphoria.

His movements are hot and scrambled and feverish, but he can’t find it in himself to care because she’s ignited something in him. Something he’d never be able to explain to her in words.

So he simply kisses her. Again. And again. Then again.

The dry heat between them is growing, and in the small part of his brain that’s still functioning somewhat, he’s vaguely aware that she’s moving her hips against his in a way that is _all_ too tantalizing. He groans and grasps her hips, guides her into a steady pattern that helps relieve the tension, in one sense, but also seems to make the longing that much _worse._

 

It’s not until one hand veers dangerously high up the skirt of her dress and he hears her breath hitch that he realizes: he needs to _slow the fuck down._ **Now.**

He makes to pull away from her, but she interrupts him.

“Bucky.” Her voice is strangled, thick with need, but her next words still come out like a command. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“I _need_ you.” she whimpers, and then, an almost-guilty whisper, like she’s admitting a secret:

“ _Why_ do you think there are no Dora around?”

It hits him, finally: she planned this. He doesn’t know for how long, but she _did_.

The knowledge that _she’s_ the mastermind behind all of this, that everything that’s happened so far tonight was a deliberate _choice_ , sends a thrill right to his core.

“You never cease to surprise me.” is all he can think to say, followed by an admission: “I don’t want to stop.”

“Then _don’t_.” she whispers, her dark eyes glinting with a sparkle he’s never seen on her before, a look that is devastatingly sexy.

And then she’s tugging at his belt, but she can’t get it off, so he handles it while she slides her panties off, some tiny delicate lacy thing. He should slow her down, but she’s faster than he is, steadies herself for a fraction of a second before she lowers herself fully onto his lap.

They both moan as he enters her, and he swears he almost loses himself right then. Because she’s hot and wet and _tight_ around him, and the feeling of her nails in his back is just the right kind of painful that he enjoys.

She moves first, always in charge. Starts them at a pace that is achingly slow, but he can’t say he minds. He loves feeling her, _all_ of her. Revels in the little moans and pants he pulls from her lips as she rides him for filth. He grips her ass and rocks into her steadily, feels her back arch as their pace speeds up.

Eventually, they move faster. She’s rocking her hips furiously, taking him deeper, but it’s not _enough_. She’s still too new to it all, doesn’t know her way around her body the way she wants to quite yet. So when she finally lets out a ragged whisper of “Bucky... I _can’t…_ ”, her dark skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat, he _knows_ it’s time to bring her to the end.

In a single, fluid motion, he pulls her into his arms and flips them over so she’s underneath him, so he can finally press the full weight of his body into hers. Just the feeling of her _under_ him, her nails in his back and her breath against his cheek is enough to wreck him, but the _gasp_ she makes when he pulls all the way out of her, then roughly pushes back in, is enough to set his whole body on fire.

So he presses into her, over and over, until she’s crying out with pleasure beneath him _._ Her hips move in time with Bucky’s steady thrusts, one hand digging into his shoulder, the other hand coming around to clutch desperately at his ass, urging him to move faster, press into her _harder_. One of his fingers slips into her open mouth, and Shuri presses her tongue against it, pulls it in with a slow, deliberate suck. He curses and moans when she does, hips jerking hard against hers. He pulls his finger out of her mouth, pulls her into a kiss that’s rough and open-mouthed and positively _filthy_. When he kisses her, he can taste the salt in their sweat, can feel the heat of his body burning against hers.

 

He pushes them both until he’s lost to the raw carnality of it all: the feel of her delicate frame pressed up against his, the pleasure of thrusting into her, faster and harder, of hearing her gasp and moan and beg for him. Shuri meets him for every turn, locks her legs around him until they both fall over the edge and there’s nothing left for either of them to give.

 

And somewhere, in between the slowing of their racing hearts and cooling of their bodies, the simmering of the last embers in the fire and the settling knowledge that Bucky has hours left, Shuri manages to whisper one last request: “Wherever you go, however long you stay -- _come back_. Come back to me.”

 

Rushed confessions and hasty promises. That’s what happens when there’s no time to say hello or goodbye.

 

Bucky wishes it could have been different, but he also wouldn’t change a thing.

 

Because he’s finally hers, and she’s finally his. As they have always meant to be.

 

So he means every last word, when he murmurs back: “I will, Shuri. I’ll _always_ come back to you.”

 

She’s the center of his world. Always has been, always will be.

 

He’s only just become a man of his word, but _this_ is a promise he intends to keep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment please! I'm also @wakandawinterprincess on Tumblr, so say hi!


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